From a Distance
by Eyes of Passion
Summary: Wolfram and one of his men spar, both fueled by the erratic, heart-wrenching flames of unrequited love. Told in the second person.


You see that he's suffering. Sometimes you think that you're the only one that sees this. The way that he holds himself changes from determined and proud to angry and defeated at random intervals. Through it all, he tries his damnest to appear composed and in-control, but you could see past all of that to the hurt man that's constantly struggling to keep it all together.

He picks you, out of everyone in his private army, to spar with. You watch as he draws his sword, so fast that you only see a flash of silver before he's pointing his sword at you, his breathtaking emerald eyes blazing. He assumes a flawless stance, more than ready to cross swords with you. You could feel his fighting spirit. It's absolutely infectious. You mimic the way that he draws his sword, quick and precise.

He comes at you with no mercy, treating you as if you are an enemy. It stings at first, but you remind yourself that you are just sparring.

You might be able to imitate the way that he drew his sword, but you can't find it in yourself to go all out against him. Not when he's hurting like this.

He strikes the sword out of your hand, and you stumble back, taken aback by the sheer force of his attack. His golden eyebrows furrow and his full, pink lips form a deep frown. "Focus, soldier!" He glares, jabbing his sword at you. He's disappointed in you. He might as well have stabbed you in the heart. "Pick up that sword and try again. Remember that you have no second chances in battle!"

This is what lights your match. His anger has turned into condescension, and you won't tolerate being talked down to like this. All of the anger you kept locked up inside comes bursting forth and you pick up your sword, swinging at him with no hesitation, your fury fueling your every movement.

Why does it gave to be this way? If things were different, you would be the one who was close to him, talking to him, getting to know him, as his equal. Instead, you are below him, his subordinate, and you hate this. You despise that this is as close as you could get to him. You absolutely loathe the social rankings that separate you from him.

You are able to keep up with him for a while this time, but then you burn out, falling onto your knees in front of him, panting heavily. It's at that moment that you notice the other soldiers that have gathered around you two, knowing that they stopped sparring to watch the battle that has your body sweating profusely, begging for air.

You are surprised to see that he is in a similar state, hunching over, panting. The sight is rather...erotic and you feel your face grow hot as you imagine yourself behind him, pleasing him, making him wanton and out of breath.

Then something magnificent happens. He stands up straight, maintaining that perfect strong, confident posture and approaches you with a grin. "You put up one hell of a fight," he compliments, holding out his hand. You stare, speechless. He has never offered his hand to anyone like this before, and you know that by doing this, he is offering you his respect and acknowledgement.

You take his hand and let him pull you up to your feet. "Thank you, sir." You say, earnestly. "You too, sir."

His grin becomes a soft smile and your heartbeat increases. You paint a picture of this in your mind, knowing that there's a strong possibility that you won't ever see him look at you like this ever again. "Keep up the good work, soldier."

His smile is gone in the next instant as he addresses the crowd around him. "Who said that you all could stop?" He snaps. "Get back to work, all of you!" Everyone scampers back in place, the sound of swords clashing filling the air. "And for slacking off, I'm adding two hours to today's practice!" He faces you and you jump. "Take a water break, soldier. It's important to stay hydrated."

"Sir!" You take off to fill your canteen with water from the well. You gulp down most of it and pour the rest over your head, the cold liquid cooling you, mixing in with your sweat. The image of him catching his breath enters your mind and you're filled with heat and want and you know that this thirst that you have for him will never be quenched.

You wonder if this is how he feels about His Majesty. Does he feel this unfulfilled? This love-associated lust that leaves him lonely and hurt? He has to. You have seen the way that he looks at His Highness, his eyes gleaming with a warmth and longing that twists your insides and makes your soul scream in anguish. Does he feel this way when he sees His Majesty flirting with others? He has to.

You want to be the one that he pines for, but that's not the reality. He's in love with His Majesty, and you don't care if he's your king; as long as His Highness treats him like trash - nothing like the treasure that he is - you will always look down on him like the worthless cheater that he is.

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A/N: I've been wanting to write something in the second person for a while now, which is a form I'm fairly new with using. Please let me know what you thought and thank you for reading!


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